


In Fairness to Me, You're the One with the Fiery Hair

by doctorxdonna (badxwolfxrising)



Series: Earth Girls Are So Not Easy [7]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Aliens Made Them Do It, Babyfic, Domestics, F/M, Forced Marriage, Smut, marry or die, shag or die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 16:31:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3495221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badxwolfxrising/pseuds/doctorxdonna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How was the Doctor supposed to know that Donna would be a dead ringer for an ancient Zlyphian fertility goddess?  The sex part he was expecting, the marriage bit, not so much, but sex has its consequences.  Will married life and raising a baby with Donna Noble turn out to be the Doctor's greatest adventure yet?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. That One Time on Zlyphaxicor 13

“You know what I’m getting you for Christmas this year?” Donna hissed through her teeth. “A great big space atlas! Something with lots of helpful descriptions about which planets are hostile, and especially which planets are likely to kidnap you to participate in bizarre old sex rituals against your will. This is all your fault, Spaceman!”

“Well Donna, in fairness to me, you’re the one with the fiery hair, ample breasts and child-bearing hips, so in a way this is almost your fault, not mine. I had no idea you were going to be the spitting image of an obscure old fertility goddess. It’s just extraordinarily bad luck that we happened to show up in the middle of a fertility festival on the full moon…” the Doctor said mildly, with not nearly enough chagrin in his voice as was appropriate to the situation.

“You’ve got some cheek calling me old, Methuselah! I’m only in my thirties! If I’m old,what does that make you?” Donna protested.

“Would you relax? I didn’t say you were old, I said the obscure fertility goddess you happen to resemble was. And I mean, for what it’s worth, she looks remarkably good for her age in the statues. And she does look quite a bit like you.”

“Relax? I think the natives are getting restless,” Donna said in a panicked whisper.

It appeared she was right. The high priestess was approaching the two of them now, and she was holding a walking stick with a suspiciously pointy end to it. The Doctor gulped, tightened his shoelaces and adjusted his tie, and stood to meet the high priestess in the middle of the stadium.

“What is the meaning of this procrastination?” the high priestess said. Or at least that’s what he thought she was saying. His Zlyphian was a bit rusty. It probably wasn’t exactly a direct translation.

“Ah, well you see High Priestess, my lady friend here is human, and human customs of her time dictate that girls should remain virgins until marriage. So she really is reluctant to do this. It would smudge her honor, and might prevent her from securing a mate in the future. You understand, I’m sure.”

“I understand,” the high priestess said, nodding. She turned, and beckoned to two men wearing headdresses that looked like bulls, and whispered something in the shorter one’s ear. The two of them disappeared through a stone archway, off to who-knows-where.

“You understand?” the Doctor asked, sighing with relief.

“Of course. We have too much respect for the goddess to not respect the honor of her likeness, even if it stems from primitive Earth custom. The ritual will go much better if the goddess incarnate is comfortable. If she is unmarried, that will not be possible for her.”

“Yes, quite right, yes,” the Doctor agreed enthusiastically. He caught Donna’s gaze and tilted his head slightly. She nodded back in relief. It seemed he might have actually talked them out of this one!

The two men returned through the archway, carrying moderate sized piles of wood. A third person, gender indeterminate underneath a headdress that resembled a griffin, was carrying a basket full of vines dotted with tiny red flowers. At the back of the group, two women who were naked from the waist up were carrying a chest between them. The women carried the chest over toward Donna, and the other three separated and went off to the side. The taller of the two men began lashing the pieces of wood together with the flowered vines. The Doctor observed all this with interest. They were evidently building something, but what?

“Sorry, but what are they doing over there?” the Doctor asked, turning to the high priestess and pointing toward the group of bustling men. Well, men and one maybe man wearing a griffin.

“They’re building an archway,” the high priestess replied, watching their progress through her mask.

“For…?” the Doctor prompted.

“For your wedding to the goddess incarnate. My handmaiden’s are preparing her for the ceremony presently.”

“What?” he coughed, his face blanching.

“You’re going to need to disrobe now,” the high priestess said, tilting her pointy stick at him. “They’ll be bringing your matrimonial garments momentarily.”

* * * * *

“I’m going to bloody kill you,” Donna said, squeezing his hand just a little too hard. They were standing underneath the archway, both of them dressed in next to nothing, with the high priestess ahead of them and two armed guards behind them. Donna’s hair had been braided with threads of gold and tiny little white flowers, her lips and cheeks rouged, and her body loosely draped in a sheer white fabric that left little to the imagination. Before the two women had dressed her, they had rubbed her down with perfumed oils, and she smelled like exotic flowers and spices.

The Doctor hadn’t been quite as lucky. He had been rubbed down with perfumed oils as well, by one of the bull-headed men while the two others had held their spears and watched. His attempts at cracking light jokes about the homoeroticness of it all went ignored. His ‘matrimonial garments” had turned out to be a single crown of white flowers for his head, and not a stitch otherwise. Evidently, the men remained naked for this part of the ceremony, or at least he was meant to.

“Why?” he had asked the high priestess.

“Because you aren’t a virgin,” she replied. Now didn’t seem to be a good time to bring up the sticking point that technically, neither was Donna. He had never asked persay, he just had a feeling about it. Not like he could’ve inquired without receiving a slap as an answer. He had just swallowed and nodded, finally at a loss for something to say.

The high priestess lit the incense in a tiny brazier, and began to sing a dedication to the fertility goddess, whose name sounded something sort of like Venus, but again was probably not an exact translation. Two young boys wearing eagle heads lit a fire with a large pile of fragrant branches, and began to sing. Next to him Donna’s breathing was quickening, her palm was sweaty clasped in his own, and it wasn’t just the heat coming off the fire making her sweat. She didn’t have the benefit of hormone dampeners to hide her anxiety.

He squeezed her hand. “It will be alright,” he assured her softly.

“How?” she whispered back. “How exactly is _this_ going to be alright? Short of a miracle, we aren’t getting out of this one unscathed, Spaceman.”

“Well, I’m not going to pretend that it’s ideal, but it could be worse.”

She stared at him, incredulous. “How could this possibly be any worse?”

He dropped his gaze. “Well, there’s no plot involving giant spiders under the Thames, for starters. You haven’t been dosed with Huon particles. No one is actively trying to kill us, so long as we go on with this little ceremony. And they’re not forcing you to marry someone who doesn’t love you, either…”

Donna didn’t have time to formulate a response to that, because the high priestess had taken both of them by the hands and was chanting a blessing over them. Using the sharp end of her walking stick, she quickly cut both of them on their left palms, placed a large flower in Donna’s hand, pressed their palms together around the bloodied bloom, and then bound them that way with silken gold cloth. She offered a large chalice of wine to the two of them, indicating they should partake together. The wine tasted like honey, and gave Donna a funny, warm feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“This is it,” the Doctor said solemnly, as the high priestess anointed each of their foreheads with oil in turn. He squeezed Donna’s hand, and she squeezed his back. “Donna?”

“Yes, Doctor?” she whispered, a slight tremble in her voice.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered back, his voice thick. “Really, you’ve never looked lovelier. I just thought you should know that.”

She bit her lip, and turned her head back toward the high priestess.

“This union has been consecrated under the blessed watch of Mother Selene. What the Moon’s light sees fit to make holy let no man or woman attempt to make profane. May your love survive infinite sunrises and sunsets under the holy guidance of the Moon. May your children and their children always walk in starlight. Now, let your bodies become one so that your spirits will follow in kind, and let all who witness this consummation be blessed and fruitful,” the high priestess sang.

The Doctor faced Donna, and cupped her chin in his hands. “I can make it so you don’t remember any of this,” he whispered. “When we leave here, you would have no recollection of this planet or what transpired..”

“But you’d remember?” she asked, searching his eyes. When he didn’t answer, Donna shook her head. “No. Absolutely not. And leave you to bear the memories and the guilt all by your lonesome? I would rather remember. It’d be kind of creepy if you remembered we’d had sex, but I had no idea what had happened. Besides...marriage means sharing the burden, yeah? Even if it is a marriage forced at knife point.”

“I suppose so,” he whispered hoarsely.

“By the way...I love you too, you giant space prawn,” she said, kissing him firmly on the mouth. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back, feeling guilty for enjoying the way her nearly naked body felt pressed against him. 

He was growing stiff against her thigh, which made him feel even dirtier and more shameful. In vain, he tried to ignore the Zlyphs in the background cheering them on as he ran his hands across Donna’s body. She was soft and lovely, all hips and tits and womanly curves...and damnit, why did it have to be like this? He had occasionally imagined the sort of circumstances that might lead to him and Donna being intimate, but it had never been like this. This was like something out of a bad sci-fi romance rag. Even he had a hard time believing this was really happening, and he had once accidentally gotten engaged by drinking hot chocolate in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or maybe it was the right place and the right time? He wasn’t sure the distinction mattered..

Gently and carefully, the Doctor laid Donna down on the bed of red silks that had been prepared for them. He sighed to himself in relief when he noticed that her nipples were hard, her pupils were dilated, and her face was flushed. She _was_ aroused, although he supposed the blush might be shame related, if she felt as embarrassed about all this as he did. While they had always been strictly friends and no funny business Mister, he had deliberately ignored some of the glances she had been giving him lately, afraid to acknowledge what they might possibly mean, especially in the wake of what had happened with Rose and then Martha. Donna of course would never admit to it, preferring instead to buffer her feelings with long declarations about alien streaks of nothing. It was all very existentialist of her, when you thought about it. All the same, this would be that much easier if he didn’t have to fight physiology along the way, and it seemed he wouldn’t need to, not if Donna’s heaving bosom had anything to say about it.

“Was there something in that wine?” she whispered when he lowered himself down over her.

He stopped, and focused his body’s attention on that particular sensation, and realized that he himself felt a little warm and fuzzy around the edges. “Maybe,” he replied apologetically. “It was ritualistic wine, it might’ve had something extra in it to help things along. I wouldn’t expect it’ll do much more besides...er, put us in the mood, for lack of a better term. Are you feeling alright?”

“Oh yeah, everything’s just wizard! I’ve been drugged with space aphrodisiacs, and now I’m being forced to have public sex with my best friend, whom I was also just forced to marry!”

“Donna…” he warned as soothingly as possible, stroking her face. “How do you feel?”

“Like I can’t believe I’m about to say this to you...but Doctor, I’m the horniest I think I’ve ever been in my life, so let’s get on with it. But you can do the hard work, because I’m supposed to be the goddess incarnate here. If we have to do this, I’m going to bloody well try to enjoy it.”

“And I’ll see to it that you do,” he whispered against her neck, adjusting his hips so that the tip of his cock was just brushing against her folds, the head rubbing teasingly against the swollen bud of her clit. Donna whimpered softly and grabbed his hips, urging him onwards. 

She was already slick with desire, he noted with bittersweet satisfaction. Regretfully, the particulars of the ritual didn’t allow for as much foreplay as he would’ve preferred, but evidently it wouldn’t be necessary anyway. Idly, he wondered how Donna would taste as he reached between them and guided himself in. The Zlyphs began to cheer as he began thrusting inside of her, but all he could hear were Donna’s quiet, keening cries of pleasure. 

When he kissed her she kissed him back, firm, eager and needy. She began to rock her hips against him, making her desire evident, so he adjusted himself so that he was thrusting down against her rather than up into her. She tightened her thighs around him and moved her hips against him, and when he felt her muscle clenching tight around him he knew it wouldn’t be long. This would be one of those rare occasions where he had little interest in drawing things out and prolonging the experience, and he had found this particular technique was usually quite efficient at bringing both parties quickly to climax. Her hands found their way to his arse and she squeezed hard, pressing him down against her. He felt her begin to shudder beneath him, and when she squeezed tight around him in the throes of her orgasm that was all he needed to send him over the edge. With a groan, he spilled himself inside of her, hugging her tight against him as he did. He collapsed against her with a sigh, his head pillowed by her breasts as the Zlyphs whooped and cheered wildly around them.

“Way to give them their money’s worth, husband,” Donna said with a pat to his arm, sounding so much like her usual sarcastic self that he had to choke back a hysterical little laugh. Leave it to her to try to lift his spirits when she had to be flying apart at the seams herself.

“Thanks, I think...wife,” the Doctor managed weakly. His cheeks were flaming red still with the shame of what he’d done. Aphrodisiacs or not, he’d just engaged with his best mate in what humans considered to be the ultimate of intimate and romantic acts, and even he wasn’t so alien as to expect that everything would resume between them as though nothing had ever happened. The idea that Donna might want to leave him, to go home, terrified him.

“Do you think they might actually let us leave now?” she asked.

“Maybe. Do you want me to take you home if they do?” he replied lightly, trying not to let the panic he felt rising in his gut creep into his voice.

“No,” she replied, taking his hand in her own and squeezing it tightly. She kissed his knuckles, and brought his hand to her chest and held it there, over her heart.

He fell in love with her a little bit right then. Which was nice, given they were technically married.


	2. That One Time the Doctor Knocked Donna Up

“Have you seen my wife?” the Doctor remarked to the research assistant. Neither he nor Donna had been much inclined to fight against the assumption people were so often inclined to make, so lately ,when people assumed they were married they just went with it. “She should be here for this demonstration.” This demonstration was the whole reason they had snuck onto this research space station in the first place. Rumor had it that Cygnet Industries had a new toy that was a bit too advanced for the times. And just where in the hell was Donna?

“I believe Mrs. Smith said she was popping off to the loo, Sir. I’m sure she won’t be but a moment. You know women. They like to powder their noses and such,” the research assistant said knowingly, and in such a way that the Doctor was convinced he probably never had actually encountered a woman up close and in person before.

The lights dimmed and the overhead projector snapped on, indicating the presentation was about to start. Donna crept in the back and took her seat next to the Doctor. “Sorry,” she whispered behind her hand.

“You feeling alright? You’ve been disappearing all day,” he whispered, watching the man at the podium intently. He was flipping through his notes, evidently taking a last look before starting the presentation.

“Yeah, just...I don’t know. Feeling a bit off. Think I’ve got a bit of the flu. I’d die for some of my mum’s chicken noodle soup right now.”

The Doctor groaned inwardly. Of all the mother’s he had encountered in recent years, Sylvia Noble had to be the worst of them. At least when Jackie Tyler or Francine Jones had slapped him, he’d known that concern for their daughters’ welfare had been the primary motivation. Donna’s mother was just a shrew, and an unkind one at that. In the wake of what had happened on Zlyphaxicor 13 though, he felt reluctant to begrudge Donna anything that might bring her a small measure of comfort. He wasn’t sure how her nagging harpie of a mother fit into that equation, but he didn’t claim to understand the affairs of humans. Not most of the time, anyway.

“I could make you chicken noodle soup,” he offered helpfully. “I’m an excellent cook, learned half of what I know from Julia Childs. Lovely woman, I actually met her when she was still a spy. We very nearly blew up the Kremlin together.”

“Hang on...what’s this?” Donna whispered, pointing to the man behind the podium.

“The working name for it is the Turling-Watson Autodiagnostic Tool, TWAT for short, and the idea is that it’ll become standard procedure in triages and emergency centers across the galaxy,” the presenter proclaimed, flipping to the next slide as he did.

Donna began to snicker, and turned to whisper in his ear. “Check it out, Doctor. Wouldn’t you like your very own TWAT for the med bay?”

“Donna, knock it off!” he hissed through his teeth, giving her leg a warning squeeze.

“Oh, come off it. It’s hilarious!” she whispered, squeezing back. “Obviously they have no idea of the significance of the initials of the product, this is comedy gold if you’ve got a bloody sense of humor. At the very least, the TARDIS translation matrix does.”

“Does anyone have any questions?” the presenter asked.

Donna raised her hand, and in perfect deadpan asked, “My husband wanted to know if you can get your old TWAT replaced for free if it wears out? He’s very concerned about what happens to your TWAT if it starts to malfunction.”

Oblivious to the double-entendre, the presenter’s research assistant piped in to answer the question. “Our TWAT’s will never wear out. They’re made with the finest industrial-grade material for the job.”

“Is that so?” Donna replied, suppressing a giggle. “Industrial-grade TWATs?”

The Doctor just sighed, and pulled at his face with his hands. At this rate, they were never going to find out what the device was actually capable of and if it were alien tech _and_ they might also be kicked out of the facility before the free lunch and drinks started.

“Would madam like to come on stage for a demonstration?”

“Ah, no. Madam is good, I think,” the Doctor said, giving Donna a dirty look. She was too entertained by her own childishness to notice his obvious disapproval. If the device was alien in origin, he didn’t want to risk the possibility of it causing Donna harm. Let someone else volunteer.

“Yes, madam would love a demonstration. I’ve always wondered how to properly operate a TWAT,” Donna said, getting out of her chair and joining the research assistant on stage. The Doctor pursed his lips, but said nothing. What could he say without blowing their cover? If there were something out of the ordinary going on here, he didn’t want to give the ones up top a reason to take a look at Mr. and Mrs. John Smith. He gripped the sonic tightly in his fist, concealed in the pocket of his coat. Should he need to use it, he was ready.

Donna stood still while the presenter’s assistant scanned her with the wand, which didn’t look all that different from the x-ray wands they used in some 21st-century airports. The wand beeped when it had finished its assessment, and the assistant hooked it up to his little portable computer to read the results. With trepidation, the Doctor found himself leaning forward to see the projections of the scans on the screen, expecting to see something alien or out of the ordinary. Which he did, although not at all like what he expected. He unfolded his glasses and took a second look, making sure he was actually seeing what he thought he was seeing. He swallowed hard.

“What’s that?” Donna asked, pointing to an amorphous shape on the scan that was already painfully recognizable to the Doctor.

“Well I’m glad you asked, as this is a perfect demonstration of the tool’s capabilities. Congratulations to you and your husband by the way, Mrs. Smith, although no champagne for you at lunch. According to the TWAT, you should be expecting a baby girl approximately twenty-eight to thirty weeks from now, allowing some room for error due to the slight differences between human and Time Lord DNA. The TWAT is also so accurate, it can detect that your baby only has one heart, which has a one in a hundred rate of occurrence if the father is Time Lord.”

Donna wasn’t laughing after that.

* * * * *

“Donna? May I come in?” the Doctor asked uncomfortably, lingering in her open doorway.

“Yeah, sure,” she mumbled, her mind obviously otherwise occupied.

Donna was naked, examining her body in the mirror. She turned to her side and prodded at her stomach with a frown. She didn’t feel pregnant, not really. She’d always been a little softer and rounder around the middle to begin with. Although come to think of it, she had been peeing a whole lot more. And eating a lot more too, when she thought about it. And whether he would admit it or not, she had caught the Doctor peering appreciatively at her breasts on several occasions recently. The one time she had called him out on it, he had only remarked that both she and the sun seemed especially perky that day. The bastard had even had the cheek to nod at her chest and wink after he said it, too. It made sense now. Kind of.

“We need to talk,” he said softly, coming up behind her. In the mirror, she could see that he was watching her intently. With a sigh, she threw her bathrobe on and turned to face him.

“So talk then, Spaceman,” she said, flopping down on the bed. “Lord knows, you’ve never waited for an invitation before.” Her bathrobe came untied as she turned on the bed, letting the robe part to expose her bare chest. The Doctor came to stand at the edge of her bed, using the bedpost as a support to lean on. With a marked effort, he was able to focus his attention on Donna’s face, and not other tantalizing parts of her anatomy that were currently on display. Hormonal dampeners or not, he was still a man, and she had all the lady bits he tended to like.

“You said you wanted to go home earlier today,” he said, unable to bring himself to address the more pressing issue out loud. 

Donna laughed. ‘Well I can’t exactly do that now. I can just hear my mother in my head, chiding me on getting knocked up out of wedlock. With an alien’s baby, no less. Don’t suppose I’ll ever find a bloke who’ll marry me now…” she said sadly. “Besides, I only wanted to go home because I felt sick. Apparently, I felt sick because I’m ten weeks pregnant. No reason to go home now.”

“Right,” the Doctor nodded distractedly. How had he not noticed before now just how blue Donna’s eyes were? And how soft and pink her mouth was?

“I guess we could take a side trip to tell the Zlyphs that their stupid bloody fertility ritual was a smashing success. Doctor...what are we going to do?” Donna asked, and from the tone of her voice he could tell she was on the verge of tears. He laid down on the bed beside her and began to softly stroke her hair.

“What do you want to do?” he asked, unsure of what else he could say. The situation was undeniably fucked up, so there was no point in mincing words over that. The Doctor and Donna were both adults, it wasn’t as if either of them were unfamiliar with the consequences of sex. Still, at the time that had been the farthest thing from either of their minds, and now the reality of it was as crushing a force as gravity.

“Well, I can’t raise an alien baby,” she said finally, after considering his question for a few minutes.

“Donna, you’re not seriously talking about aborting the last of the Time Lords, are you?” he asked, looking at her with a horrified expression.

“No!” she said, looking put-upon and sounding irritated. “Didn’t you just ask me what I wanted to do, though? I don’t know. But how are we supposed to raise a baby on board the TARDIS, Doctor? This life of ours ain’t exactly compatible with child rearing, I don’t think. Not if you want them to live past the first year.”

“No, it’s dangerous. Too dangerous for babies,” he agreed with her. “What would you tell your family?”

“Well, I thought about that, actually. Maybe I’ll go visit them soon, before I start to get so big that they can tell I’ve got a bun in the oven. Tell them I’m planning on going on a mission trip or something, that I’ll be gone for awhile. When I come back with a baby, I’ll just tell them I adopted it after its mother died or something..”

A million thoughts were running through the Doctor’s head at that particular moment. He decided to try and articulate the most pressing of them all at once.

“Your mum will never believe that you went on a mission trip, for starters. She’s never going to believe you’d willing give up everything and live in the sticks. Also, she’s going to wonder how and where you came up with the money for an international adoption. And then of course you’ve neglected the fact that this supposedly adopted baby will actually be your own flesh and blood and will probably look just like you. And possibly me, as well.”

Now she was crying. _”Good job, idiot_ ”, he thought to himself. He had to remind himself that while this was Donna and she was no delicate flower, she was still pregnant and hormonal. So many events of the past few weeks made sense now, especially the one incident involving the screaming match over the last pint of chocolate cherry ice cream.

“Well, do you have any ideas?” she sniffled, looking him in the eyes.

He looked away from her, ashamed. “No. Not as such, no.”

She looked at him for a long time, her lower lip trembling. He wouldn’t meet her gaze directly, but he could still see and feel her looking at him. Her expression was unreadable, which frightened him to no end. “I can’t believe you asked me if I was going to abort it. Like I could live with aborting my best friend’s baby. I’m going to tell them the baby is adopted. Because I don’t want to have to explain anything else. Got it, Time Boy? Unless you can come up with something better between now and then.”

“Whatever you want, Donna,” he said, and meant it, still overwhelmed by the idea that what she wanted might involve having a baby with _him_...

She kissed him then, pressing her lips and her body against him. Reaching under the waistband of his trousers, she began to stroke him until he grew stiff in her hand, and then she started to tug his trousers and pants over his hips.

“Donna,” he mustered a faint protest as she straddled him. “This is exactly what got us into this mess in the first place.”

“Yeah, well it’s not like I can get pregnant a second time, what’s the worst that could happen? Life is short Doctor, and maybe it’s the hormones talking...but I’m horny,” she replied, sliding down onto his cock.

He couldn’t argue with that logic.

* * * * *

“I don’t know what kind of rubbish you’ve been eating while you’ve been away, but you look like you’ve put on weight,” Sylvia Noble said disdainfully, looking her daughter up and down.

“Oh, would you leave her alone, Sylvia?” Wilfred Mott admonished from the kitchen table, sounding tired.

Donna sighed. “Well maybe I have put on weight. What of it? Mum, I’m trying to tell you something important. You told me I needed to find a purpose, so I did. I signed up to go on a mission trip, to Russia. Not doing preaching necessarily, but just helping out with what needs to be done. I can teach the women to do basic accounting, so maybe they can get jobs to support themselves. It’s better than just sitting around, twiddling my thumbs, being a temp, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Well, I suppose,” Sylvia sniffed. “Don’t suppose a little religion and hardship in your life would kill you, anyway. Russia’s going to be cold. You’ll be in for a bit of a rude awakening I expect, missy.”

“Gee mum, I’m so going to miss you, too,” Donna said sarcastically.

* * * * *

She returned to the TARDIS that night, thoroughly frustrated by her mother, but at least satisfied that she had successfully completed her objective. If her story seemed a bit unlikely, neither Gramps nor her mum had thought to say anything about it. She slid her key into the lock and stepped into the console room, expecting to find the Doctor tinkering, as he often did while she popped off to do what he called ‘human things’. To her surprise, the console room was empty, though she noted with some curiosity that a weird old head-lock looking device was hanging from the ceiling. No telling what Poindexter got up to when she wasn’t around, but it quite literally looked torturous, so she was probably best off not knowing. 

She wandered down to investigate the kitchen and the library, but he was in neither of those rooms, either. Deciding she was too tired and nauseous to pursue the rogue Time Lord further, she went to her room. The Doctor was there waiting for her, perched on the edge of the bed. When she stepped over the threshold, he bolted nervously to his feet.

“What is it about men,” Donna grumbled to no one in particular, “That turns them into complete blushing fools _after_ they’ve already seen you naked?”

“Donna...I wanted to ask you something,” he said softly, coming to meet her in the middle of the room. Something about the seriousness of his tone and the way he way looking at her made her heart pound, and she felt a little bit dizzy.

“What is it?” she asked him, feeling short of breath.

“I wanted to know...if you’d marry me?,” he asked soberly, pressing something cool and heavy into her palm.

She was so gobsmacked, she didn’t know what to say. This time she was the one unable to meet his gaze as he was staring at her intently, waiting for an answer. If she didn’t know any better, she would think he was messing with her, but she knew the Doctor would never joke when it came to matters of the hearts. She looked down at the object in her hand, and with marked confusion realized that it was an old fob watch.

“What is this?” she asked him.

“It’s our future together,” he replied, twirling the watch between his fingers. “Raising our child. If you want it, Donna Noble. We could be Mr. and Mrs. Smith together, for the rest of your years.”

“I don’t understand,” she replied, taking the watch back from him and turning it to look at the strange symbols etched on the outside..

“Then let me show you,” he said, taking her hand and leading them back to the console room.


	3. That One Time They Said Goodbye and Hello

“Hey there Dr. Smith, how’s the wife?”

The Doctor looked up from his tea and paper and saw one of his colleagues from the physics department smiling back at him, a mousy-faced man whose last name was Johnson or Jamison or something like that. “Oh, hello. Mrs. Smith is doing quite well, thanks for asking.”

“And you? Are you getting excited for the baby? It changes everything, you know. Marital satisfaction is said to take a stiff dive after you have kids, especially when it comes to girls,” Jerkface said conversationally. “Boys are just easier, you know.”

“Is there a reason you’re telling me all this?” the Doctor asked, tipping his glasses up.

“Suppose not. Guess I just wish someone would’ve warned me, you know? Oh, and that first year you better plan on getting cosy with your hand if you ever plan on getting off. They have no interest in sex while they’re still nursing,” he said glumly.

“Mr. Jackson,” the Doctor said, closing his paper and regarding the other man cooly. “I don’t think I like you very much.”

“It’s Johnson, actually, Mr. Smith.”

“Very well. I still don’t like you, Mr. Johnson.”

* * * * *

“Donna, I’m home,” he called, closing the door behind him. He was met by silence, which only made the thrum of his single beating heart sound that much louder thundering through his ears. “Donna?”

When he found her she was asleep on their bed, a book clutched loosely in one outstretched hand, the other hand draped protectively over her protruding belly. Looking at her like that gave the Doctor an indescribable feeling in the pit of his stomach, and an odd twinge where his second heart used to be. It was still taking some getting used to, being a different sort of John Smith again. But Donna deserved forever, and he was determined to give it to her, even if it meant this body grew old while she did. She would die before this body would completely deteriorate, and in some unfathomable way, he would continue on without her, in the TARDIS, running across a universe that sometimes seemed too small to hide all the darkest parts of himself. 

Something about Donna though was persuasive in a way Joan Redfern never had been. Perhaps it was because she had never asked nor expected him to give anything up for her that made him so willing to sacrifice when it came to her. They still hadn’t quite figured out what to tell her family, though. When Sylvia and Wilf saw the two of them together with a baby, he figured the adoption story would seem less and less plausible.

Donna Noble, mother of his child, and his wife, even if it were by accident and chance and circumstance. Good Christ. And he had told her, “I just want a mate”. Had he been lying to himself when he’d said that, even back then?

It all seemed so ironic now. He had found a mate, all right. For better or for worse.

He took his suit off and hung it up in the closet, taking a lingering look at the box with his watch in it before sliding under the sheets with her. She stirred and shifted onto her side, and he rolled over to spoon her, letting his hands rest on the swell of her stomach. He wanted to play with her breasts, but thought better of it. She’d probably slap him. The probability was high, at any rate.

He drifted asleep, feeling his unborn daughter kicking enthusiastically against her parents’ clasped hands.

* * * * *

Donna went into labor the night her grandfather died.

The phone rang at two o’clock in the afternoon, which was an average enough time that belied nothing of the urgency of the phone call. On the other end, a hysterical Sylvia Noble told Donna that Wilf had had a stroke, and she probably ought to catch the next plane home from Russia, if she could. Russia was actually America, in a small suburb outside of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. 

It had been an easy enough place to disappear into. Philadelphia was a melting pot, so they just blended in with everyone else who wasn’t from there. Donna had become addicted to cheesesteaks. The Doctor attributed it to her body needing the extra iron, Donna attributed it to the fact that meat and cheese are both delicious. Not even a cheesesteak though could fix this mess.

She hung up the phone, eyes rimmed red from crying. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she whispered, clasping her hands against her stomach. “My due date is in a week, I’m way too pregnant to be flying. And if I don’t show up, she’s going to wonder why. Oh my God Doctor, my Gramps...I thought he’d live forever.”

He held her against his chest and let her cry. “We can take the TARDIS, if you want,” he whispered soothingly, rubbing her shoulder.

“How are we going to avoid my mum?” she sobbed into his chest. “We would have to, unless you want the scene of a century. We could tell her I swallowed a spaceship, but I don’t think she’d go for it.”

“You let me worry about all that, sweetheart,” he said, taking the TARDIS key from its hiding spot on the closet shelf.

* * * * *

Wilf had his telescope aimed at the sky, but was taking a coffee break when he heard the TARDIS materialize behind him.

“Donna’s home!” he exclaimed to no one, scrambling up and out of his chair to go find his granddaughter and that wonderful, mad man. It had been months since she had left for ‘Russia’, but Wilf had known all along that she was going somewhere with the Doctor. He just hadn’t known where or why, and Donna had refused to elaborate when he’d gotten her alone and pressed for details. He figured if she wasn’t telling, she had a good enough reason.

He saw the Doctor emerge over the crest of the hill first, his long coat sweeping out behind him. Donna followed shortly after him, although her coat was buttoned snugly around her. It was only once they met at the top of the hill that Wilf was able to put his finger on why Donna had looked so odd from far away.

“Donna, you’re huge! What happened to doing mission work in Russia, eh?” he chided gently.

“I was never in Russia, as you might have suspected,” Donna said, smiling wanly.

“I had my feelings on the subject,” Wilf confirmed. “But good Lord girl, you look like you should’ve popped yesterday! What happened? Do I need to break someone’s kneecaps?”

“No, no kneecap busting needed, Gramps. What happened was that I didn’t want a big ol’ guilt trip or lecture from Mum about having a baby out of wedlock. I wanted to tell you, but I had to keep the secret as long as I could, so I made up the Russia story and had the Doctor take me far away. I was planning to tell Mum I’d adopted the baby while I was on my mission trip. I know it’s stupid, but I was scared, and the Doctor is too nice to not at least humor me. I would’ve told you sooner, if I could’ve. It’s just that I’m due...well, any minute now, so I wanted to make sure I told you the truth before. Just in case something happens,” she said, whispering the last part almost inaudibly.

“Well who’s the father then?” Wilf asked. Donna and the Doctor just stood quietly, both of their cheeks flaming red. Wilf wasn’t stupid, but he was also old enough that an ingrained sense of propriety wouldn’t ever allow him to formulate a question regarding the mechanics of it all, even if it seemed the answer was obvious. He couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud, not where his granddaughter was concerned.

“It’s a long story, Gramps. I’ll tell it to you, eventually. I just wanted to come and see you, and tell you that I love you,” Donna said, giving the old man a hug. Wilf hugged her back gingerly, almost as though he were afraid he might hurt her. When she pulled back, he patted her gently and fondly on the stomach.

“Are you happy Donna?” he asked, as they turned toward the TARDIS. “Just answer me that. Whoever he is...is he good to you? Are you happy with him?”

Both the Doctor and Wilf were regarding her intently now, waiting for her answer. Donna smiled. “Yeah, Gramps. He’s the best of men, and I’ve never been happier. I can’t wait for you to meet him, and your granddaughter. Think you can keep all this a secret from Mum?”

“Oh, I suppose I’ll manage,” Wilf said with a cheeky grin. He tipped his hat at the Doctor as the two of them darted back into the TARDIS.

When Donna nearly collapsed at the console, the Doctor held her up and let her cry. Carefully, he set the TARDIS to dematerialize and continued to hold her, rubbing soothing circles against the small of her back with his hand. They had only been standing like that for a moment when Donna grew tense and snapped her head up to look at him.

“I think I’m going into labor,” she said, falling into a full swoon. Helplessly, the Doctor caught her before she could fall to the floor, in a state of utter disbelief that all of this was happening _right now_. He couldn’t stop to think about how terrified he was, he could only act. Gently, he laid Donna out on the TARDIS floor, and then kneeled to scoop her up in his arms. As quickly as he could manage, he ran with her to the med bay, cursing and praying in Gallifreyan as he went.

As soon as he was able to, he laid her out in one of the beds and began to undress her. When he checked how dilated she was, he noted with great alarm that she was already more than eight centimeters gone. Why in the hell hadn’t there been any contractions, or water breaking, or some kind of warning signs? She was lifting her head up and off the bed to look at him now, sleeves rolled up with his arms thrust between her legs. For a moment he thought she was going to say something snarky to him, but instead she began to scream.

“Oh my God, it hurts!” she gasped, clutching at the sheets. She was definitely having contractions now, and they were coming quick, hard and fast. This baby was coming, and it was coming _now_.

“Donna, you have to push!” the Doctor urged.

“I bloody hate you!” she shouted at him, wild-eyed.

“That’s normal at this stage of labor!” he replied, ducking when she lobbed a stray pillow at his head. “Donna, push!”

“I can’t! It hurts! It feels like it’s ripping me apart!” she sobbed.

“You can do it. You have to do it. You’re doing beautiful. You _are_ beautiful,” he encouraged. “Come on Donna, you can do it. I can see the top of her head. She’s almost here! Push!”

Donna pushed as hard as she could, and screamed when the pain ripped through her body. And then just as quickly as it had started, it was over. The Doctor was standing at the end of the bed, holding a pink and squalling baby with a shock of red hair and wearing as daft an expression as Donna had ever seen on his face. For a panicked moment, Donna thought the baby’s face didn’t look quite human, and then she realized the amniotic membrane was still in tact. The Doctor carefully plucked it away from the baby’s face with the smooth and practiced ease of an old hand. She wondered, deliriously, if he had delivered all of his children.

“Let me see her,” Donna croaked, reaching out for the infant. The Doctor wrapped her in a blanket, and handed her to her mother. Donna stared into their daughter’s tiny, pink face and felt her heart melting. “She’s perfect,” she whispered, stroking the baby’s downy head.

“No,” the Doctor replied.

“No?” Donna looked at him in shock, thinking that even he couldn’t be so thick as to go all scientific nonsense on her right now about why their daughter wasn’t technically perfect.

“No, I didn’t deliver all my children. Only one of them, actually. My youngest daughter,” he said, with a far away look in his eye. Donna thought maybe he didn’t necessarily mean the daughter he had just now delivered, but she was too afraid to press him for answers. She had seen the broken look in his eyes when he’d spoken of his family on Messaline, she didn’t want or need to see that look again.

She felt guilty for even bringing it up, and then realized it was stupid to feel bad about thinking something. It was weird though, how even as a human he could still sometimes read her mind.

“She’s ginger,” the Doctor finally remarked, quiet awe in his voice. Donna couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Yes. Yes, she is,” she agreed, pressing a kiss to the infant’s forehead.

“But she is perfect. Really and truly. I love you, Donna,” he whispered, placing a gentle kiss on her lips.

“I love you too, Doctor,” she said with a tired smile, sitting up so she could nurse the baby. It struck her that he was the quietest she had ever seen him, but he was also the happiest, too. There was a light shining in his eyes when he looked at her, and when he caught her gaze she thought she actually saw the promise of forever reflected there. But he was quiet, and that was key. The words were just another layer of armor he wore, to protect himself from being hurt again. That he didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with idle chatter told Donna volumes about how profoundly this had all affected him.

“Do you think it’d be terrible if I just never went home?” she asked him as she rocked the baby. “Now that Gramps is gone...is that horrible of me, that I don’t want to go back? I’m afraid Mum will spoil this, like she spoils everything.”

“No,” he said thoughtfully. “Your mother has made her bed, now she has to lie in it. If she’s lonely, that’s on her. Besides, I love you, not your mother. Whatever you want to do, I’ll support you.”

Donna seemed satisfied with this answer, because she didn’t prod him further.

“Have you decided what you want to name her?” the Doctor finally asked later. He had made it clear early on that he had wanted it to be her choice every step of the way.

“Yeah,” Donna muttered sleepily. “I thought we could name her Freya.”

“You want to name her Freyja? After the Norse goddess of sex, drugs and rock and roll?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “Or is it sex, war, and death? I can never keep them straight...”

“What? No, you prawn, I don’t want to name our daughter after some Norse sex goddess. Freya..as in Gallifrey. I just thought...I don’t know, that it might be a nice but subtle homage to your perished homeworld. Doctor? What do you think?”

“Yeah. S’great,” he said thickly.

“Doctor, are you crying? It’s the birth of your child, you’re allowed to cry you know. I won’t tease you about it. Not hard, anyway.”

“I really bloody love you, Donna Noble. You’re just brilliant,” he said. The kiss he gave her this time was significantly less chaste.


	4. Dr. and Mrs. Smith

“Daddy?” Freya asked him from her coloring spot on the floor.

“Yes, sweet pea?” he replied, peering at her over the top of a tattered copy of his favorite Agatha Christie novel.

“For Christmas this year, I think I want a baby brother. And maybe a pony,” the little girl said conversationally.

“Oh really?” the Doctor chuckled, setting his book down. “Christmas is still a long time away, sweetheart. I guess you’ll just have to put it on your list and remember to ask Santa when you see him.” 

“I know it’s far away, that’s why I’m telling you now. And babies don’t come from Santa, Dad, mommies and daddies make them,” she said, sounding rather matter-of-fact for a five year old.

That had almost been the argument of the century, whether or not they would let Freya grow up believing in Santa. Donna had a permanent vendetta against the fat, jolly man since nearly being killed by robotic likenesses of him on her botched wedding day. The Doctor had pointed out that he had almost been killed by the same robots several years running, but he hadn’t let that stop him from enjoying the Chrimbo hols when they came around. Besides, it was important for kids to grow up having a sense of wonder and magic, he had protested. On that point Donna had finally conceded, although she hadn’t been happy about it.

“You’re too young to worry about where babies come from, Freya. But maybe we can go ride ponies next weekend, when your mum is off from work. Would you like that?” he asked.

“I guess. But I still want my own pony. And a baby brother,” she said, scribbling harder.

“Of course you do,” he said with a sigh. “You’re absolutely your mother’s child sometimes.”

“She says the exact same thing Daddy, only about you,” his daughter replied.

“I’ll bet she does,” he said, stroking the stubble on his chin.

* * * * *

“So our daughter regaled me with her early Christmas list today. And also where babies come from,” the Doctor told his wife as he climbed into bed.

“Let me guess,” Donna said, turning to look at him. “A pony?”

“A pony,” he confirmed. “And a baby brother. I told her she’d have to ask Santa, and she informed me that Santa doesn’t make babies, mommies and daddies do. We’ve created a little monster...and I’m pretty sure it’s mostly my fault, actually.”

“Well, she’s not technically incorrect. And neither are you, she’s totally Daddy’s little monster,” Donna laughed, but her face became serious. “I wonder what made her bring that up though, wanting a baby brother.”

“Who knows? She’s a child, it’s not unusual for them to talk about holidays and events long before they happen,” the Doctor said, rubbing Donna’s shoulder suggestively.

“No, I mean I wonder what made her mention wanting a baby brother for Christmas. Kind of a strange request for a five year old, don’t you think?” she asked him.

“Donna, don’t ask me. Alien pretending to be human, remember? Most anomalous bloke you know, and all that jazz? I don’t know, maybe she’s just bored and wants someone else to play with. She’s a kid, they’re like little aliens in their own respect. I don’t pretend to understand them any better than the rest of you lot.”

“Yeah, I suppose. It’s just…”

“It’s just what?” he asked, kissing her neck. She tilted his head up to meet her gaze, and took his free hand in her own. She squeezed it gently, and brought it to rest on her abdomen. The Doctor felt a chill travel down his spine, and a moment before she spoke he was certain of what she was going to say..

“I’m pregnant,” she whispered. “Just found out today, actually. I wasn’t really sure how to tell you, but I’m due in the middle of December. So I guess Freya will get her wish after all, a sibling for Christmas. Are you happy?”

He kissed her again. “Of course I’m happy. You’re lovely when you’re pregnant. And horny, too,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “Which makes your thwarting of my advances that much more perplexing. I know you want it as bad as I do.”

“Oi, watch it, Spaceman!” she said, slapping him playfully. He caught her hand and held it in his own, pressed against her abdomen. The two of them laid there like that in silence for a while before they finally drifted off to sleep.

Later though, she woke him up by crawling under the sheets and taking him into her mouth. He tangled his fingers in her hair, and groaned her name when he came.

Donna still kind of felt a bit like a ninja when she was able to get him to cum like that. After all, he was a Time Lord! He’d shagged with some of the best of them, but little old Donna Noble, Earth Girl, could get him off in just under five minutes.

She settled back against her pillow, feeling just a smidge self-satisfied. She expected the Doctor would just drop off back to sleep, but instead he reached over and began to lazily thumb her clit. That was another thing that was maddening about him, too-even when he was only being half-arsed about sex, he was still more than halfway amazing at it. He knew exactly the right speed and pressure to have her gasping and shuddering against his hand in just a few short minutes. When she’d finished, he wiped his hand on the bottom hem of her night shirt.

“Thanks for that,” she laughed, taking the shirt off and tossing it to the side of the bed with the rest of the laundry she hadn’t been doing lately because she’d been too tired. Well, at least she had an excuse. There was a tiny parasite growing inside of her, she was allowed to slack a bit on the laundry.

“You’re welcome,” he said, waggling his eyebrows sleepily at her.

“I was being sarcastic actually, about the whole using of my night shirt as a hankie. But as for the orgasm? Thanks for that too, I suppose,” she said, resting her head against his chest.

“Any time, my dear. I aim to please,” he purred.

“Ugh. Don’t sound so satisfied with yourself. I’ll smack that grin off your face, see if I won’t,” she warned.

He kissed her on the forehead. “Goodnight, Donna.”

* * * * *

Twenty-four weeks in and Donna was in full-on nesting mode. She was cleaning out the Doctor’s office, which had become more like a dumping ground for everything in the house that couldn’t find a home than a place where he actually did any work. When Freya had gotten too old for her crib, he had dismantled it and stuck it back in the closet somewhere, but Donna was damned if she could find it, he had so much stuff crammed into the tiny space. It must be some super secret Time Lord trick, fitting huge amounts of stuff into what seemed like tiny places. Donna thought to herself that there was probably a cosmic innuendo to be made there, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

She found the sketchbook by accident when she knocked a pile of papers off the edge of his desk with her bum. When she bent to retrieve the stack, the sketchbook was open and face up underneath a pile of his notes, which were always incomprehensible to her as they were almost always in the elaborate patterns of loops and swirls of his native language. The book was open to a sketch of a naked woman, and Donna’s breath caught in her throat when she realized the naked woman was her.

The lines were dark and rough, but Donna recognized the backdrop as her bedroom on the TARDIS. In the drawing, she was sprawled out across the bed, breasts thrown up in the air and hair fanned out on the pillow beneath her, with the sheets tangled around her waist. She appeared to be sleeping, a small smile playing out on her lips. She looked positively post-coital, but she suspected that was because she had been at the time. In the corner were some scrawled notations, a couple of symbols, and what looked like one of those big, long space dates. Below those, it simply read _”Donna Sleeps”_. The hand that had drawn it was obviously talented, but also much too generous and forgiving, she thought. The woman in the sketch was obviously intended to be her, but the woman in the sketch was also sexy and pretty. 

When she flipped open to an earlier page, she found another drawing of herself, though she knew this one must have been done from memory. In it, tiny flowers adorned her softly braided hair, and her eyes appeared to be shining. Her mouth was curved just slightly, a smile that perfectly expressed sweet sorrow. The detail put into it was incredible, and every feature was startlingly accurate. The tag at the bottom read _”My Runaway Bride”_. Donna smiled at the use of the possessive, and brushed a tear from the corner of her eye. Was she actually getting sentimental for their forced marriage ceremony?

As she thumbed through the book, she realized that all of the drawings were of her, some dating back to the earliest days that she had travelled with him. Later in the book were sketches of her while she had been pregnant with Freya, and a couple of her holding the baby while the two of them slept. The most recent sketch in the book appeared to be from just the other night, and it was another one of her sleeping in the nude, this time with her hands cradling the swell of her belly. There were no notations or symbols, just a date and the tag, which simply read _”Beauty Grows Gravid”_.

“You daft, blind man,” she said with a smile, blinking back the tears.

“Daft maybe, but my vision is perfect. I only wear glasses for show, you see,” he whispered, coming up behind her and encircling her waist with his arms. She sighed against him.

“I didn’t even hear you come home. You’re a bit of a creeper, you know. Sketching a naked, sleeping pregnant woman. If you wanted to draw me, you could’ve just asked.”

“If I had asked, you wouldn’t have let me. Besides, when you’re around other people, you’re on your guard. You look the most beautiful when no one is watching you, because then you’re just being yourself,” he whispered in her ear. “And yourself is very, very sexy.”

“Shut up, Spaceman. You’re just saying that because you think you have to. It’s not true,” she said, although the words rang false even as she said them.

“Saying you are beautiful is like saying the sun is radiant,” he said against her neck. “But you’re always sexy to me, and you’re especially sexy right now.”

“I don’t feel sexy, I feel gross. I haven’t showered yet today, I have morning breath from drinking crappy decaf coffee, and I’m wearing a ripped night shirt and fuzzy socks. I feel like the SS Hobo.”

“So your night shirt is ripped, huh?” he asked, ignoring the cuts she was making on herself and raising his eyebrows at her.

“Yeah, but it’s just my junk shirt. I wear it when I’m cleaning,” she said, pushing her hair out of her face.

“Right, it’s already ripped. So you won’t mind if I do this then,” he said, grabbing the shirt in the middle and pulling so that the buttons all popped off and it ripped the rest of the way. He swept the destroyed garment off her shoulders, and left her standing naked but for her socks and her knickers.

“Umm?” Donna stammered, unsure of how to respond to this spontaneous outburst of hidden rage directed at her hapless bed clothes.

“Take your socks and knickers off,” he instructed, and she complied, so bewildered that she didn’t think to ask him why. The Doctor was staring at her intently now, and his obvious enjoyment of the view looked like it was about to make a break from his trousers. Still watching her, he began to remove his own clothing.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Donna asked him.

“Looking at you like what? Looking at you like you’re so incredibly sexy that I can’t control myself, and I’m going to have to take you right here? Because I am. About to do that, the whole taking of you bit. Turn around,” the Doctor said, his voice husky.

“What?” Donna asked, staring at him incomprehensibly.

“Turn around, and use the desk to brace yourself,” he replied, saying this last bit as though it ought to be obvious.

“No, I got that part,” Donna said, leaning to brace herself and spreading her legs. “But that first part, before you told me you were going to take me and to turn around.”

“You’re so incredibly sexy that I can’t control myself, and I’m going to have to take you right here?” he repeated, coming up behind her and reaching around her waist to take a breast in each hand. His gently massaging and squeezing fingers were proving quite distracting, as was the Midnight diamond-hard erection pressed against her back.

“Yeah, that bit. You don’t need to flatter me, alright? I already love you, the goddess worship isn’t necessary. You don’t need to put me on.”

“I need to put you on my cock,” he whispered filthily, sliding the organ in question between her legs and nudging at her folds before he thrust up inside of her. Donna sucked in her breath, and pressed her palms firmly against the desk. She was so glad she had gotten him a solid oak one from the antique place, rather than that cheap one at Ikea. There was no way a Kvist corner workstation would’ve been able to support her heavily pregnant arse.

“Doctor, what’s gotten into you?” she gasped, as he snaked one hand between her legs and began to stroke her most sensitive spot.

“I could ask you the same thing. But I already know what’s gotten into you, besides myself. I just wanted you to see how hot and bothered you get me, because I know you don’t honestly believe how sexy and gorgeous you are when I tell you in words. Time Lords can fake a lot of things Donna, but arousal isn’t one of them,” he groaned, sinking himself deeper into her.

“But you aren’t technically a Time Lord right now,” she panted, grappling at the desk for better purchase.

“And right now isn’t the time for semantics, Donna. The point is that I’m trying to tell you that I think you’re beautiful, that you DO look like a goddess, that everything about you is sexy-from your breasts to your bum and everything that’s in between,” he said, letting his hands rest on the swell of her stomach. “I just think you’re absolutely gorgeous, even when you’re pregnant. Fuck, especially when you’re pregnant. You always had tits and an arse on you, but when you’re pregnant? My God…” he breathed, giving one breast a gentle squeeze for emphasis.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say it sounded like you had yourself a bit of a fetish,” she teased.

“Most men do, at least a little bit. Nothing is sexier than a pregnant woman. They’re symbols of fertility, they have that natural glow to them, and the increased bosoms and sex drive to go with it. Of course half the guys lusting after a pregnant woman are thinking about what she did to get that way, but you know…”

“Gross,” she admonished. “Could we stop talking about this? I’m never going to cum if you keep going on about creepers and their fetishes for knocked-up women.”

“Hey, I never said that I felt that way personally, just that some men do. I’m like any other normal human male-I like seeing my handy work, if you know what I mean. Your pregnant belly is a symbol of my own virility. It’s primal stuff, Donna. But I’m in the camp that nothing is sexier than a pregnant woman, so long as I’m the one who got to impregnate her.”

“You impregnate a lot of women in your spare time then?”

“Not that I know of. Though I’d say there’s at least a 50/50 chance that I have at least one bastard running around pre-revolutionary France. Sex isn’t something my people made a frequent habit of. Was one of the reasons I suppose they didn’t like me. I loved humans, and I loved sex, so the sex with humans bit kind of came naturally to me. Like chocolate and peanut butter, really. There were no peanuts on Gallifrey, Donna. Nothing even like them. Absolutely terrible...”

“You know, I’m not sure this is much better,” Donna groaned. “You need to stop talking honestly, and I’ve got the perfect chore to keep that running mouth of yours both occupied and quiet, Time Boy.”

“Oh you do now, do you?” he asked, sounding amused.

“Well?” she said expectantly, sitting down in the desk chair and spreading her legs. “Go ahead and kneel for me dear, I’m tired of standing. And would you try to be quick about it? Freya will be home from school soon, and we don’t need her walking in to her dad going to town on her mum’s lady bits. Then we really will have to explain to her where babies come from.”


	5. Life is Sweet in the Belly of the Beast

That year, they went as breakfast for Halloween. Freya was a little piece of toast, the Doctor was a thin strip of bacon, and Donna and her burgeoning belly was, naturally, the fried egg.

It was flippin’ adorable, and the Doctor had the photographic evidence to prove it.

Donna’s official due date was December 13th, but she had a feeling she would go early, like she had with Freya. This time she had wanted to keep the gender a surprise, but she had a feeling it was a boy. She knew it was an old wive’s tale, but she was carrying low this time. With Freya she had carried higher, but Freya had also been her first child.

Freya, who had been born with a caul over her face, and there were old wive’s tales about that sort of stuff, too. Still...it was almost like she had known her mother was pregnant again, perhaps maybe even before she had. And she had said she wanted a baby brother for Christmas. If it wasn’t a boy, Donna would be surprised. Freya might only have one heart, but her mother still thought she was more like her father than either of them cared to acknowledge. Donna had pressed the Doctor about that, what happened to Time Lords that only had one heart?

He had refused to answer her in specifics, but he assured Donna that so long as he lived, she would never have to bury her own flesh and blood, and wasn’t that all she really needed to know about it? After being married to him for a little more than six years, Donna knew when to pick her battles with the Doctor. There were some things she had accepted that she would just never understand, and this was probably one of them. Freya might have her red hair and soft features, but she had the Doctor’s eyes and mannerisms and cleverness, and that sometimes distant look in the eyes as though civilizations were rising and falling inside her head. Maybe they were. Donna didn’t know, and a part of her didn’t want to, even if it was her own daughter. She had to believe the Doctor had been intentionally vague to her for good reason.

“That’s some dedication, trick or treating with your kid in your condition,” one neighbor remarked to her, not unkindly.

“I don’t mind,” Donna lied, pressing her hands against the small of her aching back.

“Better you than me, sister. Cute family costume, by the way,” the woman remarked, dropping an extra full-sized chocolate bar in Freya’s bag.

They did so much walking around for trick or treat that night that Donna started having false labor pains. The Doctor luckily was able to tell the difference between Braxton-Hicks contractions and the real deal without the need for her to go to the hospital, but she was uncomfortable and in pain almost to the point of tears.

“I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing her back. “I wish it could be me instead.”

“Yeah, I wish it could be you, too,” she grumbled.

* * * * *

“Donna...are you happy with me?” the Doctor asked one night when they were laying in their bed, drinking tea.

“Of course I’m happy with you. Why are you asking?” she said, peering at him curiously over the steaming mug of camomile.

“I’m a good father, though? And a good husband? I mean, I know you and I kind of fell in love backwards, but I try to be the best husband I can to you, Donna,” he said, soundly anguished.

“Doctor, you’re the best father and that’s not even on trial. Absolutely the best any little girl could ever hope for, any child at all, really. And you are the best husband I could ever wish for. You’re my best friend, you get me completely, and you still love me for it. I’ve never been happy like I have been since you and me, Time and Space, marriage and kids. Has something got you doubting yourself?”

The Doctor hesitated, seeming reluctant to speak what was actually on his mind. She gave him the stare she knew would eventually cause him to spill it all, and eventually, he did.

“It seems like no matter how many times I tell you how much I love you, how brilliant you are, or beautiful, or sexy, or clever, you just blow me off. Donna...I’m not putting you on. I’m not sticking here with you out of some misplaced sense of duty, I’m staying because I love you, and I love our daughter, and having a family has given me something to live for in the wake of the Time War. It’s made me feel whole again. Our marriage isn’t some game or act to me. Donna, I love you. And before you came along...I couldn’t even bring myself to say those words out loud because of how afraid I was of losing it all again. I took the leap because I thought you were worth getting both hearts broken for. I became human for you. I love you.”

“I know you do,” Donna whispered quietly.

“Well then why don’t you believe me when I tell you those things?” he pressed.

“Because when a girl has been beaten down and told she’s stupid, ugly, useless, and worthless for long enough, she starts to believe it. You can’t just undo thirty plus years of my mother’s conditioning, Doctor. I’m sorry I’ve made you feel this way, I know your compliments are sincere. I guess I just never thought any one would say those types of things about me and mean them in earnest,” she confessed.

“Well, I may lie. A lot. But never about those sorts of things, never to you. Out of all the humans I’ve accidentally married, Donna Noble, you’re definitely my favorite. So if I have to spend the next thirty years telling you how wonderful I think you are, so be it.”

“Excuse me, but who else have you accidentally married?” she said, turning on him.

“Umm...Jayne Mansfield! On one occasion. Before Mickey Hargitay. We had the marriage annulled a few days later, no one ever knew about.”

Donna was staring at him.

“It’s a long story, hypervodka was involved, and she’s just one part of it,” he interjected hastily. “And besides, it’s irrelevant now, I was trying to be sweet to you!”

“I know you look like a human, but you still behave like a daft old alien sometimes, Spaceman. Never, under any circumstances, mention your ex-wives in the plural with your currently very pregnant wife in bed. Got it?”

“Yes m’am,” he said, suitably chastised.

* * * * *

As Donna predicted, she did go into labor early. Not a week early, as she had with Freya, but three weeks early on November 23rd, the Doctor’s birthday. Or at least that was the day that was apparently closest to what approximated to his actual birth date when you overlapped a Gallifreyan year with a typical Earth one. At any rate, it was an excuse for him to eat ridiculous amounts of cake and act like a prawn.

So in other words, not so different than most of the Doctor’s days.

They were at the University of Pennsylvania’s Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, checking out a traveling exhibit of recently discovered Roman artifacts. The Doctor might not have been especially fond of archaeologists, but he did love museums, and as always, he had a reason in mind when he took Donna and their daughter there that day.

“Daddy,” Freya said solemnly, pointing to the stone plaque. “How comes the people in the picture look like you and Mummy?”

“Well would you look at that. They kind of do,” the Doctor said with a wink, making sure he had Donna’s attention when he did.

“Are you a flippin’ idiot?” she whispered in his ear. “Why would you bring us here? Are you trying to draw attention to us?”

“No,” he said, his tone reflecting his obvious hurt. “I don’t know...I heard about the exhibit, I guess I just suppose I was feeling nostalgic. The last time you and I...travelled anywhere, it was right before Freya was born. It’s my birthday, Donna,” he said, pleading with his eyes.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I‘m probably over reacting,” she said, feeling a warm rush of liquid running down the side of her leg.

“Donna?” the Doctor asked, seeing the change in expression on her face.

“Apparently I wasn’t over reacting, I was just going into labor,” Donna said mildly, sinking onto a bench next to the exhibit.

“Oh. Oh! Oh shit. Freya, stay here with your mother, I’m going to call for an ambulance!” the Doctor said, taking his daughter by the shoulders.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Donna replied testily. “Children’s Hospital is spittin’ distance from here, and they have a more than adequate labor and delivery. We can walk.”

“Donna, you’re in _labor_ ” the Doctor emphasized, as though she had somehow failed to notice that small point.

“No kidding? I hadn’t noticed, you dunce. Maybe walking will help speed things up. Get Freya, let’s go,” Donna said, getting unsteadily to her feet.

The Doctor looked at her like she was insane, but he knew there was no arguing.

“Whatever you want, Donna,” he said. And he meant it. Because he knew better than to argue with her at a time like this.

* * * * *

“Happy Birthday, dear. I got you a baby, I hope you like him,” Donna said weakly, still managing to muster a smile. The swaddled infant wrapped up in her arms looked unmistakably like his father, but he had Donna’s piercing blue eyes.

“I like everything you bring me for my birthday, but he would probably have to be my favorite,” he said, stroking the baby’s head. Like his sister he had been born with a full head of hair, although his was brown rather than ginger and already it seemed wont to stick up in every which direction.

“He looks just like you, you know,” she said.

“Just like me? I’d like to think I’m only that squishy faced when you’re doing naughty things to me with your mouth,” he said. Oblivious. Some things never change.

“You know what I mean. He has your features, he _definitely_ has your hair. Got my eyes, though. I may not have super Time Lord future-seeing abilities, but I’m sensing that his teenage years are probably going to be interesting for us,” Donna said with a smile.

“I wouldn’t worry about him. Boys are easy, remember? I don’t know what we’re going to do with the Princess when she hits about eight. Normally, that would be when a Time Lord would be taken to look into the Untempered Schism. Obviously that isn’t an option...but those odd little quirks and psychic abilities she’s seemed to exhibit? All that is going to get stronger,” he said, his expression gone serious.

“Great. So when she’s a teenager she’ll be able to lie to me about sneaking out with expert cunning and skill,” Donna said, attempting to lighten the mood. This was supposed to be a happy day, and she knew how quickly the Doctor was capable of going from sweetness and light to darkness and despair. She passed the bundled infant over to him, and watched with mixed emotions as he looked down at their son with an expression that was nothing short of awe.

“Freya will be fine. We’ve got time,” he said softly. “Besides, we still have to come up with a name for this little gentleman. Don’t suppose you’d want to name him after your grandad?”

Donna smiled. “Wilfred is a bit of an old man’s name. I appreciate the suggestion, but I don’t think I could do it. Besides, I named our daughter. Do you have any thoughts on a boy’s name?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said absentmindedly, still consumed with the baby. “Maybe Alistair. Or Ian. Or..what do you think about Jamie?”

“Jamie? Yeah, I like it, if that’s what you want. Jamie Smith. Got a nice ring to it.”

He pressed a kiss to the corner of her lips. “Our little family is the best thing that has ever happened to me, Donna. Who’d have ever thought being human would turn out to be my greatest adventure after all?” he said.

And he meant it.


End file.
